


The Heavy is Dead but it's an Unnecessarily Detailed Short Story

by TheSnailien



Category: Team Fortress 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSnailien/pseuds/TheSnailien
Summary: The classic The Heavy is Dead video, recreated with excruciating detail for every action, character, and thought.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	The Heavy is Dead but it's an Unnecessarily Detailed Short Story

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Heavy is Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/761784) by Antoine Delak. 



The Heavy exited the spawn room, spouting a cheerful song to himself. It was a beautiful day outside, one that would make anyone grateful to be alive. The Heavy, ever the playful soul, announced this fact to the world.

“Ya-da-ya-la-dada! It is good day to be not dead!” sang the Heavy.

Despite his thick Russian accent, his words were easily understood, not that there was anyone around to understand them. Or so he thought.

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Blood splattered across Heavy’s temple as a figure carrying a smoking weapon emerged from the shadows. It was none other than the Engineer, Heavy’s trusted friend. A toothy, blood-curdling smile stretched across his begoggled face

“Pow! You are dead!” shrieked the assassin with delight.

“I am dead!” cried the Heavy, the shock coursing through his lifeless body and causing him to collapse onto the ground.

The Engineer chuckled to himself. The job, the dark, cruel deed he had set out to achieve had been completed. The Heavy was dead. The only thing left to do was hide the incriminating evidence and disappear before the corpse was found. Unfortunately, this task would prove far more difficult than he had anticipated. From a distance, the Engineer could make out the telltale humming of the Spy, another member of the Heavy’s circle of confidants.

“Aw shucks,” muttered the Engineer.

He scrambled to dispose of the murder weapon and adopted a look of innocence one that would do him well should the Spy come to question his presence at the scene of the crime.

The Spy arrived. A natural investigator, the Spy analyzed the scene in an instant and reached an astute conclusion. He gasped.

“The Heavy is dead!” declared the Spy. The words came out before he was able to entirely process his emotions.

“Yes,” confirmed the Heavy from beyond, or rather, within the grave. “I am dead!”

The Spy couldn’t believe his eyes. He searched his mind for a reason, any question, that would help him to make sense of the traumatic scene laid out before him.

“Why is the heavy dead?” questioned the Spy. An excellent choice. The philosophical approach to forensic investigation had always been the Spy’s strong suit, often giving him the advantage against even the most objectivist of criminals. However, this tactic would not aid him against the expert charlatan that was the Engineer.

“I don’t know,” said the Engineer, lying through his teeth and keeping his cool composure so as not to draw suspicion unto himself.

With both the Spy and the Engineer at a loss, the Heavy decided this may be as good a time as any to speak up. After all, he was the victim of the crime. Perhaps by divulging his side of the story, he may be able to help the Spy to reach a conclusion as to the identity of the killer. It’s the only option he had left.

“I think it was—” he began. However, before the Heavy could complete his thought, the Engineer and Spy reminded him quickly of his recent passing.

“Shhh, you are dead,” they both hissed. Information on the killer’s whereabouts may be important, but was not worth the cost of violating the very laws of nature and continuity themselves.

“Okay,” says the Heavy, clipping complacently and violently into the ground.

The conversation was suddenly brought to a halt by the screeching of tires. A large camper pulled into view, piloted by none other than the Sniper. He leapt out of his recreational vehicle and addressed his comrades, as energetic as ever.

“What’s up, ya wankas?” said the Sniper with the charm only a self-employed Australian assassin could muster. Surely his friends would be interested in a round of fun and YouTube-appropriate debauchery. “Who’s up for a—Ah!”

But before he could finish his proposal, the Sniper felt something cold in the air. The atmosphere of the hospital room was unusually tense. The Spy was wearing a pained expression, as though all hope and joy had drained from his body, leaving him hollow and gaunt. And why had the Engineer failed to make eye contact since the Sniper’s arrival? What troubled him most, however, was the heartbreaking image of the Heavy, his dear friend, laying still and, dare he say, lifeless on the bed in the center of the room.

The Sniper felt a deep, deep sadness wash over him, but there was something else there, too: Fear. Fear of that which he did not know. Fear of that which he did not WANT to know. Maybe if he didn’t inquire about the situation, he could simply ignore it and be on his merry way. And yet, he felt compelled to ask anyway. He had to know the truth, to not live in ignorance for a second longer.

Sniper mustered up the courage to ask the question that needed to be asked, that he feared the answer to more than anything: “What the bloody hell just happened?”

“The heavy is dead,” prompted the Spy and Engineer in tandem.

This was it. The final question to win all the money. The Sniper needed to choose his words carefully, or else risk losing it all. He had sacrificed so much to make it this far, and he wasn’t about to throw it all away on this multiple-choice question.

With $500,000 on the line, the Sniper provided his final answer: “The heavy is dead!”

“Correct!” confirmed the Spy to an elated Sniper, now rich with the respect of his compatriots as well as cold, hard, cash.

However, this victory would not free him from suspicion, as the Sniper and the Engineer would prove to be the first in the Spy’s long line of rigorous questioning.

With the crime scene cordoned off and all the witnesses grouped together, the Spy began his interrogation. He didn’t want to have to question his best friends, but the evidence was clear: the Engineer and the Sniper were the prime suspects.

“So! Did you see ze murderer?” inquired the Spy.

“Nope, sorry mate,” they both responded.

Drat. After all that work, the Spy had reached a dead end. At this point, most detectives might call it quits, pack it in, throw in the towel. But the Spy knew better than that. He knew that in times of difficulty, when all hope seemed lost, true heroes are made. The Spy knew that this time he had to be that hero. For his friends! For the Heavy!

With redoubled effort the Spy pounded on the table, nearly splintering the wood. His fervor for justice coursed through his veins, controlling every cell in his body. The Spy stood from his chair, speaking firmly and confidently.

“I will find him, I will capture him, and no one will ever die again!” he said with determination.

The Engineer, Sniper, and Tiny Tiger, so moved by the bravado with which their friend conducts his work, became compelled to applaud this exemplary performance.

But this celebration was cut short as someone else commanded the group’s attention.

“Ateeeeeeeeeeeeeeeention!” cried the Soldier, announcing his arrival to the masses. He came bearing urgent news of new forensic findings, no doubt gathered during his lengthy introduction.

“The Heavy is dead!” proclaimed the Soldier, proud of his work.

“We know,” replied the Spy with irritation.

“Who killed him?” the Soldier probed further.

“We don’t know,” said the Spy, growing increasingly frustrated with each oncoming question.

The Spy didn’t mean to speak with such an annoyed tone, but he had grown tired of recounting the same information to yet another one of the Heavy’s many friends. He had had hardly enough time to carry out his own investigation, much less mourn the loss of his friend and reenact 19th Century fine art. And yet, it fell to him to brief every newcomer to the case? It seemed hardly fair.

Even worse, this was the Soldier, another detective with whom the Spy held a bit of a rivalry. Behind his badges and slow-on-the-draw demeanor lay the wit and instinct of a shrewd investigator, with skills to rival those of even the Spy. If anyone were to butt their head into this case, the Spy had hoped it wouldn’t be him.

“I will find clues!” the Soldier announced. He’d committed himself fully to the case, but the words he spoke were free from any sort of emotion. The Heavy was a dear friend to the Soldier. The Soldier wanted nothing more than to take the time to look back on some of their most cherished memories together and remember everything his friend meant to him. But right now, there was a job to be done, and the Soldier was just the man to do it. He was the rock this mercenary group needed, and would take everything he had to keep his professional composure from crumbling under the weight of his intense grief.

He searched the crime scene with a bloodhound’s intense focus as his colleagues looked on. Even the Spy couldn’t help but admire his scrutiny and attention to detail as he sniffed out clues. Eventually, he came across something very peculiar in a nearby pile of trash.

“What’s that?” he said, picking up the odd item for a closer look. He analyzed every inch of the smoking object before coming to a grim conclusion: that this devious instrument could easily be used to take a man’s life.

“A weapon!” declared the Soldier, holding it high for all to see.

The gears in the Soldier’s head began to turn. The pieces were laid out in front of him, all he had to do was put them together. At this time, an evil chill ran down the Soldier’s spine. He didn’t know what this weapon meant for the case, but he became afraid that if he searched any further, he would be putting himself and all his friends in great danger. But he put those feelings aside and searched his heart for the answer.

He found it.

“That thing is why the Heavy is dead!” cried the Soldier. The revelation sent shock into the souls of all onlookers.

“The Heavy is dead!?” screamed the mercenaries. How could this be? Could the Heavy, their dearest friend, truly be dead?

“Yes!” asserted the Soldier with all the fervor of an Ace Attorney. “He died!”

The Spy, the Engineer, and the Sniper gasped. They hardly had time to register their own surprise before they were interrupted by yet another interested party.

A call of “INCOMING! RAUS RAUS!” preceded the arrival of the Medic, who carefully parks his ambulance before hurrying to the body.

“MOVE!” he yelled, pushing the Spy and friends away so that he might perform this most sacred of medical techniques.

The Medic kissed the Heavy gingerly on the forehead. The Spy, Engineer, and Sniper are held in suspense as the treatment does its work. For a moment, it felt like the Heavy’s body was filled with life. He seemed to…laugh? Or could this merely be air, trapped inside the corpse’s lungs and finally escaping? Could the Heavy pull through after all?

The Sniper was unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The flower of hope, withered since the death of his friend, begans to blossom once again.

But his heart was soon crushed, as the Heavy’s lifeless body explodes into a million pieces. Blood and giblets rain down upon all everyone in the vicinity.

The Medic wiped the viscera from his brow, steeling his nerves for what he must do. Throughout his career, the Medic had performed complex surgeries and countless experimental procedures, but delivering the news of the death of a loved one was always the most difficult part of his profession.

He chose his next words carefully. They were the words nobody wanted to hear, and they come out somberly:

“In my medical opinion zat HEAVY IS DEAD”

The Spy and friends were stunned! Could their friend, the lively and cheerful Heavy, who had brought so much joy into their lives truly be dead?

The Sniper found himself unable to comprehend this information. He searched his brain for answers but found none. He knew he could not trouble the Spy and Engineer, as they were likely just as emotionally distressed as he, if not more so. Perhaps the medical professional in the room would allow his mind some clarity.

“Doc, what happened?” he asked the Medic.

The Medic wasn’t so sure himself. He hadn’t witnessed the Heavy’s death, he simply arrived to provide triage, and too late at that. That being said, he did have a hunch. A hunch he was happy to present if he knew it would provide any sort of closure.

“In my professional opinion? Ze Heavy vas killed!” he declared with the decisive power of an expert prosecutor and the stoic demeanor of a marble statue.

“Oh god!” exclaimed the dumbfounded Sniper.

He turned to his friends. The Spy, the Engineer, and various Crash Bandicoot characters struggled to comprehend this reality as well. Who would kill the Heavy, who had brought so much happiness into all their lives?

The Medic quickly realized that his verdict had brought more harm than good. He sheepishly provided an alternative to this logic, hoping nobody would blame him for the panic he had caused.

“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about” he said, hopping away gutlessly.

“Well, now what?” asked the Sniper, posing. He found himself at a loss. Could they simply bury their friend and leave his suspected murder forever unprosecuted? Would justice never be found?

As these troubled thoughts floated around in the mind of both the Sniper and the Spy, an irritating holler came from the distance: “CLIPPTEY CLOP MUTHERFUCKABOOM!”

Spy immediately recognized this as the signature catchphrase of the Scout, the only person who would dare use such obscenities in a time of mourning.

“Ugh, come on…” groaned the Spy. This was not the time nor the place for Scout to intervene. After all, their dear friend, the Heavy, had just died. The Spy was in no mood to entertain the Scout’s crass and childish buffoonery.

The Scout, giving the situation a quick glance, noticed the Heavy, sitting upright on the ground, dead. Surely this would be the perfect time for one of his classic farces. He sprinted to the body, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Look at this, the freakin’ Heavy’s dead!” he said, attempting to inspire his friends to laugh but attracting none.

“What do you think a’ dat?” he prods further.

The group’s silence seemed to last forever. The Scout had completely run out of comedic material, and yet, not a single laugh, snort, or guffaw could be heard from his audience. And yet, all eyes were still on him. He felt intensely uncomfortable.

“Um…” stammered the Scout, awkwardly trying to break the silence by any means necessary.

“Yes, yes. Scout!” interrupted the Spy.

The Scout became immediately optimistic. Would Spy provide the approval he so craved? He anxiously awaited the praise of his comrade.

But it would never come.

“Go home!” commanded the Spy, his voice filled with rage and disgust.

The Scout was confused. He had just arrived and he was already being asked to leave? And by his closest companion no less?

He turned his head, and all was made clear. There sat his mother in the family car, beckoning him like an angel of death.

“Ah, come on!” exclaimed the Scout. He had just begun to entertain his friends with his humorous antics, and his mother had already arrived to pick him up! It was all too unfair. His frustration and anger combined to form a word amalgamation that he spoke with a speed comparable to his running ability.

“Pffffffrickinunbelievablenoseriouslyyouallsuck” he cursed. He cursed at his friends for betraying him and forcing him to leave. He cursed his mother for cutting their time together all too short. He cursed the Heavy, whose tragic passing failed to provide the perfect comedic material.

And he would have cursed more, but merely seconds later, the Scout and his mother crashed their car into a nearby rock.

This would not dissuade the Spy, however. He had already been subjected to too many distractions. There was still a murder mystery to be solved!

“Okay, let’s get back to the point!” he spoke definitively. The Sniper nodded in agreement. He, too, was anxious to see the long investigation come to a close.

It was time for the Heavy to provide his opinion. The Heavy had stayed quiet for much of the investigation. He preferred not to take part in the bickering of his comrades, and he didn’t care much for the Scout’s brand of comedy. He had decided early on to give the case a very thorough analysis from an outsider’s perspective. After all, the Heavy was a very important person to him. A person who deserved his respect and full attention.

“I think Heavy is dead,” proposed the Heavy.

The Heavy’s forensic approach was well regarded by professional detectives like the Spy and even the Soldier, but this revelation came completely out of nowhere, and was met with adequate surprise from Heavy’s fellow investigators.

“The Heavy is dead!?” exclaimed the mercenaries in shock. Could this be? Could their dear friend the Heavy, with whom they’ve spent countless hours of fun-filled adventures truly be dead?

While this new information further engrossed The Engineer, Sniper, and Spy, in the case, the Medic’s attention had been drawn elsewhere.

At the sight of the Scout’s car crash, the Medic let out an audible gasp. Ever since the death of the Heavy, the Medic had been wracked with guilt. In a way, he blamed himself for what had happened. Of all his friends, the Medic was the one most skilled with medicine. If he couldn’t even save his closest comrade, what good was he as a doctor, or even a friend for that matter?

But that could change.

The Scout, his beloved friend and a key member of the investigation, was in trouble! With an explosion of confidence, the Medic sprinted towards the crashed car. “Not again,” he whispered to himself. He won’t be late. He can’t be late.

“Scout, I vill heal you!” he shouted.

But he was too late. The fire from the crash had ignited the gas tank of the Scout’s family car, and the Medic’s metaphorical explosion of confidence was met with an explosion that was all too real. He was annihilated in an instant by the oncoming fireball.

The Heavy had grown tired of these constant distractions. He needed to know who killed the Heavy for the sake of his own sanity.

“Oh, seriously, who killed Heavy!” he shouted with frustration. Usually, the Heavy would restrain from using such a harsh tone with his friends, but he felt this time it was warranted.

Little did the Heavy realize, the answer to this question would come sooner than he had anticipated.

Two loud glugs are heard over the crowd. Followed by words no one ever thought they’d hear.

“IT WAS MEH,” confessed the mysterious, Scottish voice.

The mercenaries knew in an instant who the voice belonged to. They turned to see their pal the Demoman, standing confidently, with a devilish grin across his face.

The mercenaries gasped in shock. The Demoman was a bit of an outsider in their group. While he was always welcome at friendly gatherings and deathmatches, not much was known about this suspicious individual. The Spy, Engineer, Sniper, and Heavy were surprised to hear this confession, but they would be lying to say the Demoman wasn’t the most likely suspect.

“YES!” confirmed the Demoman. Alcohol had a habit of finding its way into the Demoman’s mouth, despite the gravity of the situation requiring the utmost sobriety, and the gravity of Earth not allowing that to be physically possible. “I did it like this: BOOM”

The Demoman whipped out a firearm and shot a slug so forcefully into the Sniper’s chest that he was knocked back several yards himself.

“Whoop dee doo!” the Demoman cheered. So proud he was of his demonstration that he performed a small dance, although it appeared a bit off-kilter due to his intoxication.

The Spy, Engineer and Heavy couldn’t believe what had just transpired. The Demoman, their dear friend, had not only admitted to the crime of killing the Heavy, but he had murdered the Sniper right in front of their very eyes! The Spy and Heavy held the Sniper’s limp, bleeding body in their arms. They simply couldn’t believe it to be true. They didn’t want it to be true.

Luckily, it wasn’t true.

After a belch and a swig of his liquor, the Demoman was quick to put their worries to rest.

“That’s a joke lads,” the Demoman clarified.

The Spy, Engineer, and Heavy broke into instantaneous laughter. If the Demoman was known for anything, it was knowing the right time for the perfect joke, a talent the Scout had yet to master.

The Demoman sucked upon his bottle of whiskey and released an apocalyptic burp. Alcohol always helped the Demoman clear his mind, and to prepare for what he was about to say, he needed the utmost clarity.

“It was yo-,” the Demoman starts, before burping “HIM!”

The Spy followed the Demoman’s line of sight to see that he was pointing at none other than the Engineer! How could this be? Could the Heavy have been killed by one of his closest friends?

The Engineer was equally baffled. Could this figure shrouded in mystery have seen him commit the crime? Impossible! He was sure that there were no witnesses… and yet, the truth had been revealed, not by him, but by the Demoman! The Engineer needed to satisfy his curiosity. How had he been found out?

“How did you know?” the Engineer asked, hoping for some kind of explanation. The Demoman removed the bottle from his mouth.

“I didn’t!” the Demoman chided. He let out a burp before explaining further. “That was a joke, too!”

The Demoman casually returned to his drink as though he hadn’t solved the greatest mystery of the modern era.

The Engineer couldn’t believe what just happened. The Demoman hadn’t revealed his guilt, HE did. This mysterious figure, currently drinking himself into a Critical Shit, was the one part of the equation the Engineer hadn’t accounted for. Foiled by the mere gaffe of a drunk Scotsman. He couldn’t help but laugh.

And laugh he did. He laughed and laughed and laughed. There was nothing so unsettling as the maniacal cackling of this Texan mastermind. His foul deeds had been so expertly crafted, so perfectly constructed, that he was sure nobody would ever trace the murder back to him. And he was right. In his hubris, he had failed to secure the most unstable variable: himself. The one person who knew everything had revealed it all.

“That’s right! It was me!” the Engineer announced triumphantly.

“You monster!” berated the Spy through tears. Anger doesn’t even begin to describe how the Spy felt. How could the Engineer have taken the life of his closest comrade? What reason could there possibly be?

The Heavy seemed to be wondering the very same thing.

“BUT WHYYYYYYYYY?” he cried, dumbfounded.

“’Cause you’re fat, boy!” said the Engineer angrily. “And another thing: you’re ugly”

The Heavy was insulted by the Engineer’s accusations, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised. The Engineer was an infamously vain individual. He put an immense amount of care into his appearance, and he held his friends to a similarly high standard. To the Engineer, seeing someone put so little effort into the way they looked felt like a betrayal of trust, especially when this person was his closest friend. He couldn’t bear to let this betrayal continue. And so, he killed the Heavy.

The Heavy had become equally furious. He couldn’t let this logic stand. He tried to explain to the Engineer the error of his ways, but the Engineer would have none of this, and the conversation soon became an argument.

Obscenities flew back and forth. No topic was off limits for insults or criticisms. The Spy shrugged. The Heavy and the Engineer had been known to argue from time to time. It was tradition, after all. But he never imagined that such a vitriolic hate was being harbored secretly among his friends.

The Heavy knew he had to put an end to this madness.

“ENGINEER!” he screamed, enlarging his head. Perhaps if he disrupted the Engineer’s line of thinking, he could create a temporary ceasefire amidst the constant barrage of insults and use this opportunity to bring the Engineer to his senses.

But this grotesque display only seeded the Engineer further into his rage.

“Ah! Dammit Heavy fuck off!” cursed the Engineer. He had grown tired of looking at the appalling figure that sat before him. He searched his mind for any method he could use, any trick or scheme he could employ that would allow him to be rid of the Heavy once and for all.

But nothing came. His plan had been completely and utterly ruined by his own hands. He had used every trick in his arsenal, but he could not escape the punishment that awaited him. Even worse, the Heavy, his arch-foe, who he was sure he had killed earlier, stood before him, healthy as the day he was born.

But how could that be? Something wasn’t adding up. The Engineer was losing his grasp on reality.

He grasped his head in his hands and sulked into the bar, trying to make sense of the situation.

“You are dead!” he insisted desperately. This was his last gambit. Perhaps if he could convince the Heavy that he was not truly alive, that he had shaken off this earthly coil and moved on to a better place, he might still see his master plan come to fruition. And maybe, just maybe he could still live to see his ideal, beautiful world.

It took everything the Heavy had not to smile at the thought of his oncoming victory. Even despite his best efforts, a wry smirk came through. The Engineer’s accusation posed a significant threat. But the Heavy had prepared a surefire technique to turn the tide in his favor.

The Heavy took a deep breath. This technique demanded requires expert precision. Even the slightest slip-up could result in catastrophe. He steadied his aim and aligned his hands into the proper position. The Heavy had seen enough death for one day. He and his friends had been through so much today. They had taken heavy losses, from which they might never recover. There was some part of him that did not want to end it like this. But he knew the Engineer had to be punished. Retribution was his to deliver, and by his hand, he would see it through.

The Spy looked away, for he knew what would happen next.

Without missing a beat, the Heavy pointed his fingers towards the Engineer and performed his technique: the ultimate reversal!

“No, U! POW!” screamed the Heavy. A shot rang out. A telltale crack echoed for miles, letting everyone know what events had transpired here. The Engineer’s body, mutilated and disfigured, went flying back. He had been hit with the very same accusation he had thrown at the Heavy merely seconds ago. It was over. The merciless villain had been defeated. The Engineer was Dead.

The Heavy, who had been thrown back from the force of the blast, regained his composure. He would need to further perfect this technique to diminish the amount of recoil in the future, but for the moment, he seemed unharmed. He brushed himself off and, seeing what was left of the Engineer’s body, was compelled to laugh.

“Haha! You are dead! Not beeg surprise,” he chortled.

The Spy was…less impressed. An intense feeling of shame had washed over him. Had he truly spent the entire day arguing with his friends about a murder that, in the end, became undone? Had he really been an accomplice to the deaths of all his friends? The Spy felt sick. He would rather die than see his reputation crumble from such an embarrassing series of events. To have his name be inexorably tied to such stupidity.

“Well, that was idiotic. Off to hang myself!” he said, trying to maintain some sense of pride. But he knew he couldn’t for very long. He affixed a nearby noose to his neck, set up a chair, and took a running start. He intended to kill himself, but that doesn’t mean he can’t go out in style.

“Watch and learn!” called the Spy as he took a running start. He stepped off the chair and flipped in a gorgeous arching motion that would make even Olympic gymnasts envious of his skill. The Spy swung with such grace that even after the force of the flip had completely snapped his neck, his limp body retained the poise of a dainty hummingbird, hovering in midair.

The Heavy, choosing to ignore this traumatic series of events, decided to further bask in the glory of his recent victory.

“I am alive!” he shouted triumphantly. “Is nice.”

But the creeping sense of shame encroached upon the Heavy’s conscious as well. As he looked back upon the events that had transpired, upon all the lives that had been lost on his behalf, he began to realize that what had happened here today was nothing short of utter ridiculousness.

“Yes, this is stupid!” spoke the Heavy almost involuntarily. He too, was having trouble grasping with the sense of guilt and embarrassment that had driven the Spy to suicide.

But he put these thoughts aside. He stood proudly in defiance of all he had been through, and he smiled. After all, it was a beautiful day outside, and he was grateful to be alive.


End file.
